Two Strong Men Stand
by Mara Greengrass
Summary: Tim Drake walked out of a bar and into insanity.  Sequel to "Never the Twain"


Title: Two Strong Men Stand

Summary: Tim walked out of a bar and into insanity.

Even without his normal modes of transportation, it didn't take Tim long to find 221B Baker Street. He had to admit there was a certain amusement in being in a time and place in which urchins regularly hung on cabs, er, hansoms to hitch a ride. Dick would have been thrilled to watch him.

Shortly he was dusting himself off in front of the house he'd been directed to by one of the skeeviest men he'd met in many years of crimefighting. It was, of course, entirely possible this was a trap of some kind.

Shrugging, Tim rang the bell. An older woman with worry lines on her forehead and a tea tray in her hands opened the door, looked down at him, and sighed. "You'll be wanting Mr. Holmes, then?"

Tim blinked. "Um...yes?"

"I'll show you up." Turning, she began to stride up the staircase and Tim followed for lack of a better idea. When they stood in front of a door, she turned and thrust the tray into his hands. "Take this in and tell Mr. Holmes I've nearly had iquite/i enough of him. I'll be having words with Dr. Watson this evening."

From behind the door, a voice called. "I heard that!"

With a huff of breath, the woman stalked back down the steps, leaving Tim staring between her and the door. Before he'd entirely decided what to do, the voice behind the door said, "Do come in. It's so wearying to speak through wood."

Balancing the tray on one hand, Tim opened the door slowly in order to give himself time to get a good look at the room. It was a futile effort, however, since the room was...utterly impossible. It looked like an unholy marriage between a mad scientist's laboratory and Wayne Manor after a hurricane.

Tim took a tentative step into the room, whirling to face the figure that loomed out of the shadows like...well, like Batman. Tim took in a sharp breath before realizing it wasn't Bruce. The man, presumably Sherlock Holmes, was shorter than Bruce and not as broad in the shoulders, but the untidy robe and pajama pants didn't entirely hide the muscles or the way the man moved. It was similar but Bruce moved like a panther, while Holmes moved like a lion.

Without taking his eyes off Holmes, Tim found himself automatically shifting into a defensive posture, the tray tilting slightly to become a possible weapon.

Holmes paused for an instant-eyes narrowed-then very deliberately relaxed, arms dropping to his sides, hands out to show no weapons.

Tim took the gesture at face value and carefully set the tea tray down on a faded chintz chair.

"Thank you, young man," Holmes said, strolling toward a rundown leather chair. "Mrs. Hudson would be quite angry with me if I broke another tea set."

"You wouldn't wish to upset your landlady," Tim said.

Holmes' eyebrows went up and he paused. "Not my cook?"

Tim shrugged. "The way she spoke to you. Not an employee planning to give notice but an equal. Or at least she thinks so."

"You are the most interesting thing to walk into this flat in months," Holmes said, flinging himself into the chair, which looked like it wouldn't support his weight. Picking up a long pipe, he gestured around. "Find somewhere to sit." Puffing furiously on the unlit pipe, he watched Tim make a choice.

Tim scanned the room. He could pick up the tea tray, but then he'd have to sit with it on his lap. There was another chair, across a small table from Holmes, but it was occupied by a dog, possibly alive, possibly dead. The next chair he could see had a precariously balanced test tube with something that he couldn't identify, next to a tube oozing something that appeared to be eating through the leather.

With a shrug, he dropped a pile of papers off an end table that looked like the sturdiest thing in the room and sat on it cross-legged, grateful Alfred wasn't there to see it.

"Where did you learn to fight?" Holmes asked as he settled down. "Your reactions are quite incongruous with your appearance."

"My re...but you haven't seen me fight!"

"Irrelevant. And you haven't answered the question."

Tim looked straight at Holmes. "I learned to fight in Gotham City."

"Indeed." Holmes puffed on the pipe again. "You present an intriguing puzzle."

"I haven't even told you why I'm here yet."

Holmes waved a negligent hand. "You're looking for someone. Someone who bears a resemblance to me, in fact. Not your father, I think. Perhaps a teacher?"

Tim opened his mouth, ran mentally through all his movements since entering the room, then closed his mouth. "Ah. Yes, my teacher. My mentor. His name is Bruce Wayne, although he might not be using that name. I have...reason to believe he's somewhere in London." He chopped off the automatic "at this time."

Holmes didn't move, but the look he gave him said clear as day that he knew something had been left out. Tim started to feel like he was back in Young Justice, confronted with J'onn J'onnz. It was *not* a comfortable feeling.

Holmes leaned back and propped his feet up on the small and precarious table in front of him. The dog on the opposite chair raised its head for a moment, gave both of them a sour look, then plopped its head down again.

"What exactly does this Mr. Wayne teach you?" Holmes asked. "Acrobatics?"

Holmes was obviously expecting a shocked reaction, but Tim simply crossed his arms. "No. Bruce is not the acrobat. My brother spent time in a circus."

Holmes twitched slightly.

"Fine," Tim said, giving up. "He's not my brother by blood, okay? Look, you know you can read my body language and I know it too, so can we give up the pretense?"

Holmes froze, pipe halfway out of his mouth. "And how ido/i you know it?" he asked eventually. "I wasn't aware that anyone else could do that."

"She's very far," Tim said.

Holmes leaped out of the chair and began to pace back and forth. "I'll have to meet her."

Tim shuddered slightly at the thought of what Cass might make of Holmes. "Will you help me find Bruce?"

Holmes whirled. "You haven't told me what he iis/i teaching you."

"You can't figure it out?"

"No," he said eventually, with an epic scowl.

Tim made a decision. "He's teaching me to fight crime."

Holmes began to grin. "Oh, I iam/i going to enjoy this."

-end-


End file.
